Shattered Silk

CHAPTER EIGHT

KAREN closed a few minutes after five, practically pushing a last lingering customer out the door. The woman had been in the shop for half an hour and obviously had no intention of buying anything; she was just killing time. Cheryl wasn't at the house when Karen got there, but she arrived soon afterward, by cab, with several suitcases.

"I left the car for Mark," she explained. "He said he'd pick us up about six-thirty."

While she waited, Karen had tried to summon up courage enough to tell Cheryl she had changed her mind. Though she paced up and down rehearsing different approaches, she couldn't find one that sounded convincing. If she denied being afraid, Cheryl would tell her she ought to be. If she admitted she was terrified at the idea of staying alone, Cheryl would be all the more determined to stick to her side. And she couldn't bring herself to admit the truth-that she did not want to be obligated, even indirectly, to a man who had been forced, against his will and his wishes, into the conventional role of male protector by her friendship with his sister. He might even think she had encouraged that friendship in order to see more of him.

She had not decided how to tackle the subject when Cheryl arrived, but it didn't matter; Cheryl never gave her a chance to introduce it. She talked steadily while they showered and dressed, with only a few brief interruptions as she dashed in and out of the bathroom. "… the one in Poolesville is kind of cute. Cheap, too. But it needs a lot of work, and I think we'd be better off in an area that already has some craft and antique shops. Not New Market or Alexandria, rents are too high, but maybe Kensington or Falls Church. Suppose we try Virginia tomorrow. There's a town in Prince William County…"

Karen gave up-at least for the present. She decided defiantly that she might as well enjoy her evening out, a rare chance to wear pretty clothes and dine at a nice restaurant with two good-looking men. Even if both of them were more interested in burglars than in her.

It had been Cheryl's idea that they model some of their merchandise. "We should always do that when we go out, Karen, especially to someplace fancy. I told Mark he had to pick the best restaurant in town."

Karen had agreed, primarily because she had nothing else suitable. Never again would she appear in public wearing the disastrous silk dress Jack had called homemade. If she could ever afford a cleaning woman, she would emulate Mrs. Mac and give the dress away.

She had selected a dress from the thirties that hung straight from the shoulders to the irregular, calf-length hemline. Its chiffon skirts were frosted with overlapping rows of black sequins and tiny rhinestones. She was struggling with the snap fasteners along the side when Cheryl came in.

"Oh, Karen, you look sensational! Here, let me do that."

While Cheryl coped with the snaps, Karen studied her reflection in the mirror. It was certainly a considerable improvement over the one she had seen a few weeks earlier. She looked thinner, but that might be the dress; black is notoriously slimming. The greatest change was in her expression-lips curved and cheeks flushed with laughter at Cheryl's breathless compliment. The shadow girl was laughing too; but now there was no mockery in her smile.

"Don't you think the dress is too stagy?" Karen asked doubtfully.

"You can look at me and say that?" Cheryl struck a pose. She was wearing a strapless fifties prom dress with a bouffant net skirt, in which she looked no more than eighteen. "Anyhow," she went on, "that's just how we want to look. Eye-catching. Stand up straight. Throw your shoulders back. That's better."

Mark arrived promptly at six-thirty, wearing a conservative dark suit and tie. After explaining that Tony had been delayed and would meet them at the restaurant, he examined his sister and broke into rude, uninhibited laughter. "What are you supposed to be, the sweetheart of Sigma Chi?"

"Sneer all you want," said Cheryl, unperturbed. "Do I look cute or don't I?"

"You look sweet sixteen and ready to be kissed. If that's a compliment…"

"Now tell Karen how gorgeous she is."

Karen stiffened self-consciously as Mark gave her the same careful inspection he had given Cheryl. "She's beautiful. Even more beautiful than…" He checked himself and then went on smoothly, "… than Mrs. Mac when she wore that dress. Ever see pictures of her when she was young? You wouldn't call her beautiful, but she was a knockout in her own way."

He turned away to help his sister with her wrap. The quintessential politician, Karen thought sourly. The compliment hadn't ended the way she expected; she only hoped her expression had not betrayed her feelings. She wondered how he had known the dress was one of Mrs. MacDougal's. It was hardly likely that she had shown it to him. Perhaps she had worn it in one of the pictures he had mentioned. Or perhaps he had simply assumed it had been hers, after hearing Cheryl chatter about Mrs. Mac's designer dresses.

The restaurant was new to Karen-not surprisingly, since fads in eating places came and went in Washington-but Cheryl nodded approvingly. "Good choice, my boy. It's one of the 'in' places. We'll be seen by everybody who is anybody. Too bad we don't have our cards printed, Karen, we could pass them out to people."

"That would be just dandy for my image," said Mark. "I've got trouble enough being seen in public with somebody who looks like Debbie Reynolds."

They did attract a few stares as the headwaiter led them to a table. Its position was indicative of Mark's status as a fledgling Congressman-not one of the cozy banquettes that were reserved for real celebrities, but in a location where they could see and be seen.

"We may as well order," Mark said, after they had been seated. "No sense waiting for Tony; he never knows when he can get away."

"I suppose he's stuck with another murder," Cheryl said.

"Murder?" Karen repeated. "Let's hope it's just a nice harmless breaking and entering."

"No, it would be murder," Cheryl said absently, her attention fixed on the menu. "That's Tony's job-homicide."

Karen was content to drop the subject.

Cheryl did most of the talking. Descriptions of the properties she had inspected carried them through the cocktails, and she had just launched into an animated lecture on bookkeeping methods when the appetizers arrived. She stopped talking and inspected her oysters on the half shell with visible disgust.

"I don't know why you order oysters when you hate them," Mark said, spearing one and swallowing it.

"They're classy. Besides, this way you can eat twice as many. Look-isn't that the TV announcer-Channel 4-I forget his name-"

"Quit staring," Mark ordered. "That definitely is not classy."

"Someone's waving at you," Cheryl said delightedly. "I can't see who… Oh!"

The sudden change in her voice would have been amusing if she had not been so visibly embarrassed. Mark was not embarrassed-when had Mark ever been?-but the rising tide of color in his face betrayed his annoyance with his sister-not because she had pointed Shreve out, but because her exaggerated reaction underlined a situation that could, and should, have been passed off as a casual social encounter.

On a sudden impulse, Karen waved back. The look of surprised indignation on Shreve's face pleased her enormously.

"There's Tony," Mark said with relief. "It's about time."

Theirs were not the only eyes that followed Cardoza's progress across the room. Again Karen was struck by his astonishing good looks. His colleagues must kid him unmercifully about being so beautiful.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, pulling out a chair. "A policeman's lot…"

"Bad?" Mark asked. At close range the signs of strain on Tony's face were visible to all of them.

"Yeah."

Though Mark was obviously curious, he took the hint. "Drink up, then. You're behind."

"I'll stick to wine, thanks. Have to toast the new enterprise."

After Tony had ordered he leaned back and smiled at them. "This is a pleasant change from my usual stale sandwiches and TV dinners. If you had told me the ladies were going to be so dolled up, I'd have gotten my tux out of mothballs."

"Just don't mention the sweetheart of Sigma Chi," Cheryl warned him.

"You look cute."

"Thanks for nothing."

The affectionate older-brother smile Tony had given Cheryl faded as he turned his attention to Karen. After a moment he said unexpectedly, "'She walks in beauty, like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies…'"

Karen felt her cheeks grow warm. She could think of no appropriate response to a compliment so gracefully expressed, so obviously sincere. How long had it been, she wondered, since she had blushed at hearing the open admiration in a man's voice?

Mark broke the silence. "If there is anything more revolting than a literary cop-"

Tony grinned. "Hey, pal, if you can't hack it, don't knock it. Here's luck to the lovely lady, and her partner, and their business." He raised his glass.

"Thanks," Karen said. "We're going to need it."

"Especially if people keep messing up the merchandise," Cheryl added. "We've washed and ironed some of those nightgowns twice in two days."

Her blue eyes widened innocently as she spoke, but as Karen had realized, her new partner was not as ingenuous as she appeared. Cheryl did not believe in wasting time, or resources. To her surprise, Karen found that her initial reluctance to imposing on Mark-and Tony- had faded. Tony's charming tribute had nothing to do with it, of course. Neither man appeared averse to discussing the matter. In fact, Mark looked more alert than he had all evening.

"That's one explanation," he said. "Have you got a jealous rival, ladies?"

"A couple of dozen rivals, I guess," Cheryl answered. "But if someone is trying to discourage us they're going about it the wrong way. It will take more than a little washing and ironing to stop us."

"If the low-down rat knew what a menace you are when you're riled up, he wouldn't mess with you," Tony said, smiling at Cheryl. "I agree with you. Anyone who wanted to put you out of business would burn or destroy your stock. There's something else involved. Karen, can you think of anyone who might have a grudge against you?"

"No. Tony, I appreciate your concern-and Mark's-but we don't have to talk about this. It's not your responsibility. And I'm sure you are very, very sick of crime."

"Honey, this isn't a crime." The endearment slipped out smoothly and naturally; Tony appeared not to notice he had said it. "Not the kind I'm accustomed to deal with daily, at any rate. It's more like an interesting little problem."

"A case for the Murder Club?" Karen asked with a twist of her lip.

"Oh, hey," Tony said quickly. "Don't get the idea that this is just an academic exercise for me. It might be if I had read about it or heard about it. But when it happens to someone I know and like… You aren't going to tell me to stay out of it, I hope?"

"I'm very grateful," Karen said quietly.

"There's nothing to be grateful about. That's just the point. No serious crime has been committed, and in my expert opinion there is no danger of a serious crime. This looks like a case of simple harassment. It may not even be directed against you personally. Kids playing tricks, picking a victim at random-"

"Trying to strangle someone is a hell of an unfunny joke," Mark said.

"Shut up and let me be the detective. That's what they pay me for, you know. The first incident may or may not be connected with the others. Whether or not, it's obvious that the guy was not lying in wait for Karen; he was caught by surprise, and lost his head. As for the enterprising young man who made off with Mrs. MacDougal's car-I'm sure you thought you recognized him, Karen, but we have a reliable report of his being seen in Cleveland. It's his home town and he is not unknown to the police there."

He smiled at Karen, who shrugged resignedly. If he was trying to prove that he knew all about her recent adventures, he had convinced her. But he had not convinced her she had been mistaken about Horton.

"The next episode is particularly interesting," Tony went on. "We might call it 'the ghost in the garden.' A bed sheet is certainly a weird disguise-"

"It's a damned good disguise," Mark broke in. "It conceals not only the face but all other identifying characteristics, even height and build. I admit a person wearing it would be somewhat conspicuous out on the street, but in a secluded back garden nothing could be better, and once he leaves the premises he can just roll it up and carry it under his arm. What's suspicious about dirty laundry?"

"Okay, okay. The trouble with you, Mark, is that you talk too much. I still think the bed-sheet disguise suggests someone's peculiar idea of a joke. And a pretty childish joke at that-I mean, who in this day and age believes in the old-fashioned sheeted specter? We've seen too many special effects in too many horror films to be frightened by anything so primitive. Hell, if I decided to play ghost, I could come up with a much more ingenious costume."

"I'll bet you could," Cheryl said.

"Which is precisely my point," Mark insisted. "It wasn't meant to frighten Karen… You weren't frightened, were you?"

"Who, me?" Karen gave a hollow laugh.

"Well, I don't mind admitting I'd have been scared to death," Cheryl announced. "Seeing something like that, in half-fog, half-darkness…You big brave heroes can jeer all you want, but I'll bet you'd have been shocked out of your socks too-at least for a few seconds."

"Exactly," Mark said triumphantly. "Those few seconds could make the difference between capture and escape."

"I don't know what the devil we're arguing about," Tony said. "There was no danger to Karen in that incident-right? The next one, last night's, is a little more serious. The joker actually got into the house. Now are you girls absolutely certain you locked up? I got the impression you were both a little-well-"

"You have a lot of nerve calling us drunks," Cheryl exclaimed.

"I didn't say you were drunk, I implied you were careless. Did you lock all the doors and windows?"

"Certainly," Cheryl said loftily.

"I'm sure," Karen said. "Well-ninety-nine percent sure."

"You'd better be a hundred percent sure," Tony said soberly. "Because if you did lock up, it means your visitor has a key to the house."

"Or that there is a way in we don't know about," Mark said.

"Come off it," Tony grunted. "Next thing you'll be talking about secret passages. Look, ladies, I'm not trying to cast aspersions on your sobriety, but it doesn't seem possible that someone could have a key. You just had new locks installed, didn't you? So. The next question is, did anyone know Cheryl was staying overnight?"

"No," Cheryl said without hesitation. "It was a last-minute decision. I didn't know myself until after midnight."

"You didn't call Mark?"

"Well, of course. You know I did."

"Just a damned minute," Mark said. "Are you suggesting-"

"I am trying to conduct a proper interrogation," Tony said. "And I'm having a hell of a hard time doing it. Did you tell anyone Cheryl was going to be at Karen's?"

Mark's cheeks darkened. "What do you think, that I called everybody I know to tell them the cat's away and now little brother can play?"

"I don't know what you're so uptight about," Tony said in an aggrieved voice. "Relax. I am simply trying to establish that Cheryl's presence in that room and in that bed was known only to Cheryl and Karen."

"Oh." Mark sat back.

"Nobody knew," Cheryl said. "For goodness' sakes, you men make such a fuss about the simplest things."

"So," Tony continued doggedly, "the guy went into what he assumed was an empty room. He opened the wardrobe. He probably got the shock of his life when Cheryl started stirring and mumbling. He ran-with an armful of clothes. Now if he was startled, scared, he might have held on to them for a second or two. But why didn't he drop them on the stairs or in the hall? Why carry them out to the garden and spread them around? Why bother with a lot of rags in the first place?"

"They aren't rags," Cheryl said indignantly. "They are valuable-"

"Yeah, sure, so you keep telling me. But come on, ladies-how much are they worth? A couple of hundred bucks? A couple of thousand?"

"Closer to a hundred thousand," Karen said.

"What?" Tony was obviously taken aback.

"I've never really thought of it in those terms," Karen said slowly. "But I have-oh, thirty or forty of Mrs. Mac's dresses. They aren't all designer originals, and their value varies a lot; but when you consider that a Poiret evening dress sold at Christie's in 1981 for fifty-five hundred dollars-"

"Five thousand bucks for a dress?" Tony exclaimed incredulously.

"Some are worth more," Karen assured him. "Some less, of course…I almost wish you hadn't brought it up,

Tony. I guess I don't have the mercantile mentality."

"That's what I'm supposed to be contributing to this partnership," Cheryl sputtered. She smacked herself on the forehead with the flat of her hand. "Insurance. My God, insurance! Why didn't I think of that? First thing tomorrow-"

"Hold it," Tony said. "I'm glad I reminded you of your forgotten duties, kid, but we're wandering off the subject. I didn't realize-"

"Throws your theory into a cocked hat, doesn't it, buddy?" said Mark with a mocking smile.

"What about yours, buddy?"

"Doesn't affect mine." Mark leaned back and folded his arms.

He obviously wanted someone to ask him what his theory was. No one obliged. Tony swallowed, pondered for a moment, and then said firmly, "No, it doesn't have anything to do with what I was thinking. Because the clothes weren't stolen. They were arranged-deliberately arranged-around the garden. That reminded me of something. I'm surprised it didn't strike you, Mark."

"You mean the Stratford case," Mark said.

"Uh-right." Tony looked crestfallen. In the hope of a more appreciative audience, he turned to Cheryl. "It happened in 1850, in Connecticut. Started with the standard poltergeist phenomena: objects flying through the air, fires breaking out with no apparent cause. But there was one unusual feature. One day when the family came home from church they found a lot of their clothes in the parlor, stuffed with pillows and arranged in strange positions, like dummies in a tableau. One was kneeling in front of an open Bible."

When he had finished, there was a profound silence that lasted until the waiter had removed the plates and requested their choice of dessert.

"I'm having those little cream puffs with chocolate sauce," Cheryl said. "Tony, are you out of your mind?"

"You don't get it," Tony said. "No, thanks, no dessert for me."

"Nor me," Karen said. "I'm afraid I don't get it either."

But it had been a curiously disturbing image and it increased the eeriness of what she had seen the night before-the white shapes fallen in helpless abandon, like victims of a massacre.

"This is serious, Tony," Cheryl said reproachfully. "And you start rambling on about haunted houses and poltergeists!"

Tony glanced at Mark, who was not trying to conceal his amusement. "I'm not rambling on about poltergeists," he said, in the strangled voice of a man who is controlling his temper under extreme provocation. "I don't believe in poltergeists. Everything has a rational explanation, including the Stratford case. The dummies were set up by someone-"

"Everyone in the household was in church," Mark said gently. "Including the servants. They alibied each other."

"Then they lied, or they were misled," Tony said. "There was malice in that case, and that's the motive here too. The parallels-"

"Are purely coincidental," Mark said. He was no longer smiling. "The motive in this case is so obvious it hits you in the face. I can't imagine why the rest of you don't see it. Somebody wants something Karen has. It's that simple."

"Ruth's silver," Karen began. "Her antiques-"

"Not Ruth, you. This nonsense didn't begin until you started collecting old clothes."

Karen laughed. "Are you suggesting a competitor is trying to steal my stock? The most valuable things haven't even been touched, much less taken. Or maybe it's someone who has a mania for dressing up in antique women's clothing."

Mark looked thoughtful. "I hadn't thought of that one."

"But I'll bet you've thought of things that are just as far-out," Tony jeered. "A will in the pocket of an old coat? A diamond bracelet some woman just happened to forget she had left in her purse?"

Cheryl began waving her hands. "He's right, but he's all wrong," she said excitedly. "I mean, it must be something Karen bought. But don't forget the trouble began the day we went to the auction. And what happened at the auction."

Mark had obviously heard all about Mrs. Grossmuller. He let out a whoop of laughter. "I suppose the old lady stitched a confession of murder into her wedding dress-thirty years before she bumped the judge off."

That ended any hope of a sensible discussion. Even Tony got carried away; it was he who postulated a treasure map embroidered onto a tablecloth. Paste gems that weren't paste but genuine, diamonds disguised as buttons-they covered the gamut of absurd theories. They were laughing over Karen's suggestion-a lost Edgar Allan Poe manuscript cut up and used to line a lady's bodice-when a voice behind Karen said brightly, "I had to stop and say hello."

Tony was on his feet. Mark started to follow suit; Shreve put her hand on his shoulder and held him in his chair. "Don't get up; I wouldn't disturb such a pleasant group for the world. So nice to see that you're having an evening out, Karen."

"Like the maid, you mean?" Karen turned. "Have you met everyone?"

She performed the introductions. Shreve nodded slightly at Cheryl-"I've met Mrs. Reichardt"-but her eyes returned immediately to Cardoza. "Detective?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Tony, trying to look stolid.

"Charming," Shreve murmured. "What a pretty dress, Karen. Is it for sale?"

"I'm afraid it wouldn't suit you," Karen said. "But if you are interested in a dress, come by any time. All customers welcome. I'll even take your personal check."

"How adorable of you." Shreve's hand moved from Mark's shoulder to his cheek. She patted it gently. "Well, I'll say good night. Don't let this poor boy work too hard."

"I'd say the honors went to Karen," said Tony critically, as Shreve joined the rest of her party.

"Is that her husband?" Cheryl asked, staring unabashedly.

"No," Mark said. "Does anyone want coffee?"

"At three bucks a cup?" Tony shook his handsome head. "Now if someone were to offer me a cup later, after I had escorted her home…"

"Good idea," Cheryl said. "And then you guys can help us look for the missing treasure."

"I was just kidding about that," Tony protested.

"I wasn't." Mark reached for the check. "I tell you, he's looking for something. Don't forget what he said to Karen."

"'Where is it?'" Cheryl repeated. "I had forgotten that. I think you're on to something, Mark."

Tony was not so easily convinced. Pressed by Mark, Karen was forced to admit that the idea was not as farfetched as their joking discussion had made it sound. She had heard of dealers finding old letters and diaries, even jewelry, in a bag or a pocket. They argued back and forth most of the way home, and in the end Tony grudgingly conceded that there was a possibility Mark was right. Only a possibility, though.

"It will be like looking for a needle in a haystack," he grumbled. "If the purported missing object were something obvious, you'd have found it by now. You've looked in the pockets and in the toes of the shoes?"

"I never thought about the shoes," Karen said.

"Oh, hell," said Tony.

They had reached the house; Karen took out her key and inserted it in the lock. "Damn," she said, twisting. "It sticks."

"Let me." Mark unlocked the door.

"Aren't you going to open it?" Cheryl demanded.

Mark stepped back. "You go first."

"Our hero! What are you afraid of?"

"The dog," Mark said simply. "This is my best suit."

Tony seemed equally disinclined to volunteer. With a scornful sniff Cheryl opened the door and demonstrated her technique. After he had been tipped over, Alexander got to his feet and walked away with the abstracted air of a philosopher pondering one of the great universal questions.

"I've got to get out of this dress," Cheryl announced, leading the way into the house. "It's so tight I can hardly breathe."

"You ate too much," her brother said rudely.

"You ate my oysters."

"Oysters aren't fattening. What did it was that mountain of profiteroles."

"I shall ignore that," Cheryl said. "Shouldn't you change too, Karen? Remember our rule: Don't wrinkle the merchandise unnecessarily."

"I'll make the coffee," Mark said. "I take it the merchandise is upstairs? Yell when you're decent and we'll come up. This way, Tony."

Loosening his tie, he strolled toward the kitchen with the confidence of someone who knows his way around a house and feels at home there. Which of course he did, Karen thought. At one time he had been a frequent visitor, welcomed with the total hospitality Pat extended to people he liked. Memories warm as summer and clear as actual sight filled her mind-Mark and Pat sitting in the kitchen, elbows on the table, sleeves rolled up, scattering crumbs and leaving beer and coffee stains on the cloth; Ruth scolding both of them with affectionate impartiality as she mopped up the mess…

"Hey, Karen," Cheryl called from the top of the stairs. "I need help with this zipper."

"Oh, yes." Karen came back from ten years in the past. "Coming."

The search began with a certain amount of enthusiasm. Even Tony looked hopeful as he examined the shoes, most of which had belonged to Mrs. MacDougal. They had been neatly stuffed with tissue paper-but only with tissue paper. Mark seemed fascinated by the dresses. He kept repeating, "Five thousand dollars? Five thousand?"

Finally Karen lost patience. "They are like any other kind of antique or collectible, Mark; the price depends solely on what people are willing to pay. Here, give me that. You're going to loosen the crystals pulling at them."

"I can't believe they aren't diamonds," Mark said, giving up the dress-one of Mrs. MacDougal's more heavily beaded creations. "There's no place to hide anything in these dresses-no pockets, no collars, no sleeves."

Tony's interest had declined, but he stuck to the job, methodically examining handbags and purses, feeling the linings to make certain they were intact, turning them upside down and shaking them.

"What's this?" Mark reached into the wardrobe and took out a small cream-colored box.

Karen launched herself at him with a shriek and snatched the box from his hands.

Mark recoiled. "What the hell-"

"That's my Fortuny!"

"I don't know what a Fortuny is, but I can assure you I wasn't about to wipe the floor with it."

Karen peered cautiously into the box. "It's one of his Delphos dresses. Nobody knows to this day how he got those tiny pleats, covering the entire garment. They had to be returned to him to be re-pleated, and they were sold in boxes-like this one-rolled and twined around like a skein of yarn. I was afraid you were going to take it out. I haven't dared touch it, because I know I'd never get it back the way it was."

"How much?" Tony asked, as Mark contemplated the small box with a mixture of disbelief and respect.

"A couple of thousand-but that's just a guess. As I told you, the price depends on the market at any given time."

"Holy Geez." Tony shook his head.

"All right," Mark said. "We won't unwind your Fortunato"

"Fortuny."

"Whatever. I trust this isn't another sacrosanct item?" He took out a black velvet evening cloak and ran his hands over the fabric. "Hey-there's a lump under here-"

"That's a shoulder pad, you oaf." Cheryl snatched the cloak from him. "You'd better leave this to us, Mark.

You're getting everything all wrinkled, and you don't know anything about clothes. We're more likely to notice something unusual than you."

"I'm running out of steam," Mark admitted. "And out of ideas." He ran his hands through his rumpled hair. "What about that jewelry of Mrs. Mac's, Karen?"

"How did you hear about that?" Karen asked.

"She told me she was going to give it to you," Mark said readily.

Apparently this was one piece of information he had not passed on to Tony; the latter demanded to know what they were talking about, so Karen explained, and brought out Dolley's necklace and earrings. The gleam in Tony's eyes faded when he saw them, however. He shook his head. "No."

Karen was beginning to feel protective about poor Dolley's jewels. "What do you mean, no? They are historic treasures."

"Maybe so, but they aren't worth much to your common garden-variety thief. I was expecting big shiny diamonds."

"I thought you were going to let Bates take charge of them," Mark said.

Karen repeated what she had told the lawyer. Her tone was aggressive; she rather expected Mark would tell her she was wrong, and demand that she put the jewelry in safekeeping. However, he nodded and said agreeably, "Right. It's not a question of whether you have it, but whether someone thinks you have it. Why don't you give me the case? I'll carry it conspicuously out of the house- drop it and take my time finding it-"

Tony hooted. "Drop-kick it into the street, maybe. Or I could go out for a pass."

Cheryl didn't smile. Karen could see that she too was disturbed by the suggestion that someone might be watching the house. She said sharply, "If you think we're under surveillance, you had better take a couple of shopping bags too. We don't know what this character wants."

"If anything," Tony agreed. He yawned widely. "We'll leave you ladies to your well-earned rest. I don't admire your bedtime reading, though, Karen. Guaranteed nightmares."

He picked up the Georgetown legends book. Karen explained its presence, adding, "You know about it?"

"Oh, yeah." Tony's eyes twinkled. "The local precinct got a couple of calls from irate citizens. They wanted the author arrested."

"I wouldn't mind giving him or her a few swift kicks," Mark said. "Resurrecting those old scandals can only hurt people. The one involving Mrs. Mac…" His thin lips curved in a reluctant smile. "She thought it was funny. Laughed till I was afraid she'd choke."

"Can I read the book?" Cheryl asked.

"Help yourself. It's only on my bedside table because I've been too lazy to put it away. Maybe I had better get rid of it before Pat comes home; he's likely to go after the author with a horsewhip when he reads that libel about. his mother."

"It's not libel," Tony said. "That's why the author is safe from the heavy hand of the law. Most of the information comes from old newspaper stories and other published sources; the rest is innuendo, and the author was smart enough to skirt the edge of the actionable. Besides, nobody seems to know who he is."

"Pat is just as likely to consider it the best joke since Watergate," Mark added. Rising, he stretched and yawned. "Feel free to call at any hour, girls, if you find the diamonds."

"Don't worry," Cheryl said. "We will."

"Is someone going to escort us to the door?" Mark inquired.

Cheryl flatly refused, with a few pointed remarks about big strong men and little helpless dogs. Karen offered to do guard duty. Tony lingered; she heard him say something to Cheryl, who replied with a peal of laughter and a comment whose tone was decidedly caustic.

As they descended the stairs Karen said, "I'm sorry you were dragged into this, Mark. It wasn't my idea."

"I'm sure it wasn't."

"If you could persuade Cheryl to leave-"

"No one can talk Cheryl out of, or into, anything. She's a grown woman; she makes her own decisions." They had reached the door; Mark turned to face her. "Are you seriously suggesting that I remove Cheryl and walk away, leaving you to the tender mercies of some wandering lunatic-or that muscle-bound chauffeur whose pretty face you admire so much? What kind of cold-blooded bastard do you take me for?"

His voice cut like a knife. Before Karen could reply, Tony came running down the stairs, and Mark turned away.

Tony took Karen's hand. "Thanks for an interesting evening. It isn't often I get a chance to search for lost diamonds and literary manuscripts."

Without turning, Mark opened the door. "If you're going to start quoting, keep it short and snappy," he said, and went out, leaving them alone.

"I want to hear the key turn and a lot of clattering of chains and bolts," Tony said softly. "Not that I think there's anything to worry about-"

"I know. Thanks, Tony."

Abruptly he bent his head and touched her lips with his. Brief though it was, the kiss had nothing tentative about it; the brush of his mustache along her upper lip sent a tingle through her body. Then he was gone, closing the door after him. She heard a soft voice say, "Locks."

Karen did as she was asked. There was no further comment from Tony. Peering through the spy-hole, she saw only his broad back, retreating.

Mark was waiting for him on the sidewalk, strategically situated in the light of a street lamp. Karen's view was limited and distorted, but as she watched she realized Mark was putting on the promised performance with the jewelry case. He did everything but drop-kick it, and although his gyrations were exaggerated to the point of farce, Karen was not particularly amused.

She made a detour into the kitchen and prepared a pot of tea. The rumble of Alexander's snores followed her up the stairs; really, she thought, there must be something wrong with his sinuses. Considering that his entire face was wildly out of sync, it would not be surprising.

Cheryl looked up from the ledger she was inspecting and smiled. "I was just thinking a cup of tea would hit the spot. Are you tired? Want me to get out of here so you can go to bed?"

"I'm still keyed up. I need to unwind. But if you're sleepy-"

"We've got to stop being so damned polite," Cheryl said. "To tell the truth, I'm dying to go over your records. Unless you mind-"

"Who's being overly polite now? I'd be delighted to have you take over the damned books. I'm absolutely hopeless about keeping records; I keep forgetting to write things down." Karen curled up in the chair Mark had occupied. "What I really want to do is sit here and watch you work."

"That's right. You're the artistic half of the team and I'm the business end." Cheryl frowned at one of the entries. "Did you itemize Mrs. MacDougal's dresses? All I can find is an entry that says, 'Misc. clothes, Mrs. Mac.'"

"Oh, dear. I meant to do it right, only…"

"You've been distracted," Cheryl said, with a wry smile. "Let's start with the two dresses you sold that friend of yours."

After she had made the entry she asked, "When did you tell her you'd have them ready?"

"I didn't. But we must get at it right away. Some of the beads are loose, and then they have to go to the cleaners'."

"I'll do that tomorrow afternoon. What cleaner do you use?"

"It's someone Mrs. Mac recommended. What's more," Karen added, "I had to be recommended to him. He is not, if you please, taking new customers. But he knows how to handle delicate things. Be sure you explain to him-"

"I get it. Throw Mrs. MacDougal's name around and insist he handle these items personally."

"While you're at it, you could pick up the things I took in a few days ago. I think the ticket is here somewhere." Karen rummaged in her purse and finally came up with the receipt. "Be sure you keep track of the cost. And speaking of money-"

"Why talk about something we don't have?" Cheryl grinned. "This is a hand-to-mouth operation, Karen. Sooner or later we'll get a proper accounting system set up, but right now it's grab it while you can."

Karen refused to be amused. "It's going to be touch and go for a while, I know that. It looks as if I may have to take advantage of Pat's offer and borrow from him until- and if-I can get a settlement from Jack."

"That's right, you saw the lawyer today. I'm sorry, Karen, I didn't even ask how it went. There was so much to talk about."

"He was nice. He's just starting out, that must be why Mr. Bates recommended him. I'm sure his fees are a lot less than Bates, Bates, and Whoever. But he wasn't terribly encouraging. These things take time, said he profoundly-especially when, as seems evident, Jack is not inclined to be generous. Well, damn it, I don't want generosity, I just want what's fair. Lord knows I earned it."

"It's definite, is it? You aren't going to change your mind?"

"About the divorce? Not on your life. Even if I were dumb enough to stick my head back in the noose, Jack wouldn't take me back. It was his idea in the first place."

Cheryl studied her earnestly. "I'm sorry if you are; I'm not sorry if you're not. Don't get me wrong; I just wouldn't like to be left without a partner before we even get this show on the road."

"No fear of that. Even if both of us had complete changes of heart I'd still go on with the shop. I have to do it. It means a lot to me. Actually, I was about to ask you the same question. You'll marry again one day-"

"No."

"You may feel that way now, but-"

"No. I'm never going to get married again."

Her head was bent over the book, and her tumbled hair hid her face. After a moment Karen said gently, "How long has it been?"

"Two years. I know what you're going to say." Cheryl turned to face her, tossing her hair from her forehead. Her face bore an expression Karen had never seen on it before, a blend of dedicated exultation and of pain. "Everybody says the same thing. You'll get over it, time heals all wounds… But I won't. My life isn't ruined or anything like that. I'm a very happy person, really. But I'll never love anyone but Joe."

The flat finality of her voice would have forestalled argument, even if Karen could have thought of anything to say. She was astounded. To think that Cheryl, outwardly so cheerful and matter-of-fact, nourished this unrealistic, sentimental delusion…

Karen had no doubt that it was a delusion. Love was not eternal, grief did not endure. "Men (and women) have died, and worms have eaten them, but not for love." She was as convinced of those cliches as she was sure the sun would rise next morning. All the same, she felt a dull ache of envy.

"I'm so sorry," she began. "I shouldn't have raised the subject-"

"Oh, it's just as well we got it out in the open," Cheryl said calmly. "People are always trying to fix me up with other guys. It's a waste of time; you might as well know that from the start."

"So that's why Tony…" Karen stopped and bit her Up.

"Tony is a good friend."

"He is also the best-looking man I've ever seen. A real hunk, as they say. I wondered why you hadn't mentioned that little detail."

"I guess he is handsome," Cheryl said indifferently. "Joe wasn't. I mean, most people wouldn't consider him good-looking. Tony likes you, Karen. I could tell."

"I'm not so sure," Karen murmured. She was seeing several things in a new light.

"You're the one who is likely to remarry. A beautiful, educated person like you-"

"I doubt it. I didn't like being married."

The statement surprised her almost as much as it did Cheryl. "Really? Wasn't there anything-"

"No. Now that I think about it, there wasn't much about being married that I liked. I didn't own anything. Everything I had was a gracious, patronizing gift-money, clothes, food, the house, even my time. Jack's work came first, and I got what was left over."

"Not all men are like that," Cheryl said earnestly.

"And there must have been something--I mean, don't you miss…"

Cheryl's delicacy amused Karen. In her new role as partner she was trying to be more refined. "Sex? Yes, I do miss it. But, to put it as nicely as possible, there wasn't much to miss."

"That's putting it nicely, all right. But I get the picture. You mean he…"

"I think the word would be competent," Karen said musingly. "Marginally competent. It came as a shock too, I can tell you. He was very amorous before we got married. Once it was legal, he seemed to lose interest."

Cheryl let out a gurgle of laughter. "You're funny, Karen. You say things so elegantly, but they sound much more insulting than if you'd cut loose and used a lot of four-letter words."

"I should be ashamed of myself," Karen said with a smile. "We're always complaining about men thinking of women as sexual objects, and here I am doing the same thing."

"Was Mark…" Cheryl stopped with a gasp, and turned away. Karen had a glimpse of a beet-red, horrified face before Cheryl's hair swung down to hide her features.

"I'm sorry," said a muffled voice from behind the hair. "Me and my big mouth. I should have it amputated."

"Forget it." Karen laughed and put an affectionate arm around Cheryl's hunched shoulders. "This is like those old college bull sessions, where we all sat around and let our hair down."

"I never went to college," Cheryl muttered.

"I never finished. So what?"

Cheryl looked up. Her face was still crimson. "Pretend I never said that, okay? I don't want to know anyway. I mean, my own brother… He never told me any personal things, Karen. Honest."

"I said it's all right." Karen had no intention of answering the implied question. It had set off a sharp stab of memory that was humiliatingly physical in its intensity. "Was Mark…" Oh, he was, she thought. He certainly was.

"We'd better get to bed," she said lightly. "We should be bright and sharp tomorrow for our session with the realtor."

"Right. Listen, how would you feel about a place with living quarters upstairs or at the back? For us, I mean. I'd pay a bigger share of the rent-"

"Why should you pay more if we share…" Karen's breath caught. "I'm a selfish, thoughtless jerk. I keep forgetting about your little boy."

"I don't talk about him much. But I think about him all the time."

The words were quiet and unemotional, but they struck a chord that vibrated deep down in Karen's very bones. Her fingers closed over Cheryl's shoulder. "We'll do it. Come hell or high water, burglars or bankruptcy, you'll have him with you in time for kindergarten this fall."

It was an extravagant promise, a promise she had no right to make; factors over which neither of them had any control could make it impossible to keep. But she was filled with shame at her selfishness. Preoccupied with her own emotional problems, she had failed to consider Cheryl's.

Yet who would have supposed that beneath the other woman's smooth, bright facade there was a layer of sensibility as fragile, and as damaged, as the shattered silk lining of an antique garment?

She ought to have known, or at least suspected. Friendship deserved more than she had given.